“Good morning!”
“Beautiful
weather we’re having today, eh?”
“This rain is
just what these plants need, don't you think?”
“How’s the
family?”
I know the script well. I know the
answers before they’re spoken. I know exactly how I should curve my lips. Just
enough to show I’m fine. Everything is fine. This is fine.
Wake up with the sun, kiss Him good morning. Get up quietly- He likes to sleep in. Creep downstairs, disturbing the little ones would only throw off the schedule. I must stay on schedule. It’s Friday. They like pancakes on Friday. The Girl likes hers with a fresh compote; The Boy likes his with syrup. He likes His coffee fresh. Feed the Dog.
Once it’s
ready, then I can wake them. The
house is loud, the children are happy, the dog is happy, and He is happy. The
children have school, their lunches and bags are packed, and the bus blissfully
takes them away. He is still here. He gets ready for work, His suit prepared
for Him the night before. Just before He leaves, He kisses me goodbye.
A successful
morning, so far.
I do my pilates. The Instructor gives
empty words of encouragement through the screen. I listen anyway, soaking up
the shallow compliments like it’s my own dirty secret.
Next comes the shower. The blistering
hot water hits my skin as I scrub. This filthy skin suit never seems to shed
its dead weight. Scrub harder. Scrub more. More. More. More. More. More. More. More-
Walk the Dog. The Dog is simple. Stroll past the perfectly watered lawns as it sniffs out the world around it. This gated cage is the Dog’s world, and it’s blissfully unaware. This is the Dog’s time, yes, but it is time to play my part. The sun is shining, and the day is peaceful.
“Good
morning!”
“Beautiful
weather we’re having today, eh?”
“How’s the
family?”
These People
play their parts well. These People know how to follow the script. Perfect
People, perfect lawns, perfect script.
There’s a Woman. I have seen her before; she is the wife of an accountant. Last summer, she brought the peach cobbler to the barbecue. She has three Boys. Busy family. She is also walking her Dog. She doesn’t look well. She hasn’t put on her costume. Her hair and makeup haven’t been done. It’s not fine. No matter, I know my part well enough. I swiftly clear my throat, my lips begin to curve, and I open my mouth,
“Good morning!”
“There are no
birds.”
“Beautiful
weather we’re having, eh?”
I freeze. That
is not the line. That is not the script. This is not fine. Not fine. Not fine.
Not fine.
“I can’t hear the birdsong,” the Woman
emphasises. She glares, as if I am to be the one in charge of the birds. I am
not. That is not my part. That is not my job. That is not-
The Woman keeps walking before I ask how her family is. That is wrong. That is not what she is supposed to do. That is not the role. How dare she change the script? Who is she to change our lines? I will have to remember this for the next meeting.
I continue the
walk briskly. I will try again tomorrow.
The house is
quiet. I can have a moment to revel in the silence before it is time to get to
work.
Cleaning is simple; there is never any
trouble when cleaning the house. Cleaning keeps Girl and Boy’s toys tucked away
and his living room ready for when He returns. It is spotless. All that is left
is to clean the patio table; it is a nice day, and they would likely want to
eat outside.
The patio is still coming to life as summer approaches. I scrub the table with the trick my mother taught me: dish soap, vinegar, water. Simply perfect shine. In the corner of my eye, I see an imperfection. A spider, no, the hollow remains of a spider. A lifeless husk. What was once its underside reveals the true nature of the world beyond the gates. Matriphagy was what they called it in school. I don’t remember learning that in school. Perhaps high school? Or University?
The Girl won’t
like this.
I mindlessly
toss it over for the birds to fight for.
The day continues as scheduled. The Girl
and Boy return. They ramble on about their meaningless day while I prepare
dinner. It’s Friday. They like homemade
pizza on Friday. Girl wants to help; Boy wants to play. I let them. This is
their time.
It is time for
pizza, but He isn’t home yet. Why isn’t He home? He knows it is Friday. He
knows they have dinner together. He knows He should not be late. This is not
the schedule. The living room was ready for Him. The pizza was ready for Him.
All He had to do was arrive on schedule.
We eat in
silence. Inside.
Girl and Boy finish promptly. Bathing is
the hardest task of the day. Girl and Boy are sticky, unclean. I cannot scrub
them too hard, that leaves a mark, and they cry. They like bathing when there
are toys. Bubbles. I let them. I will clean the suds later. They are clean. I
brush Girl’s hair first, it’s longer and more tangled. The Girl cries, I will
remind her to endure the pain. The Girl should know better. The Boy needs to be
reminded to brush his teeth correctly. His teeth are perfect and should remain as
such. They are ready for bed. They are easy to tuck into bed, just make it
tight enough so they don’t crawl out. Each one gets a story, a kiss and a:
“Sleep well. Mommy loves you.”
I wait for Him to come home. One glass, two glasses, three go by by the time I hear the car pull up. “Had to work late,” He says as He presses his lips against my cheek. A lie I allow myself to believe. I watch Him eat, I watch Him enjoy his sports. I let Him have His time. I am perfect, He tells me. And I believe Him.
I take Him to
bed. I give Him his time. He wants another Boy. I want to be done.
The moon is in the sky. I hear Him
snoring next to me. Something He says He never does. I lay there, perfectly
still, as I watch the clouds form. It will rain tomorrow. Won’t that be good
for the plants?
I know my part
very well.
